The Forgotten Comte
by snowflake-eyes3216
Summary: {A Cinderella AU} After the deaths of both Comte and Comtesse Potter, their young son is left in the care of his relatives, the Baron and Baroness Dursley. However, Harry grows up not knowing he is a Comte. What happens when he crosses paths with the Prince?
1. Chapter 1

Harry woke to the bright sunlight of dawn streaming through the shutters. He sat up and stretched, glancing around his room. Tiny though it was, barely big enough for his cot and weather beaten trunk, it was his own. No one but him went into the small room off the kitchen; the Dursleys' deemed it beneath them to enter a servant's room.

Harry stood from the bed, his back creaking. The scabs across his shoulder blades twinged with the movement, but he ignored that. He was used to waking up with the pain of half healed wounds. Harry walked over to the window and opened the shutters. He leaned his elbows on the sill, closing his eyes and breathing deep.

For a few moments, Harry allowed himself to enjoy the early morning sunlight dancing over his skin. He then patted the sill and straightened up. He sighed, turning back to face the room. Absently, he opened his trunk. He glanced back out the window, smiling faintly.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he whispered to himself. Though he turned eighteen today, the Dursleys did not care. It was just another day to them. The last people to care had been the Weasleys, the Dursleys' other servants. The family had been employed on the estate as long as Harry could remember. He had memories of the family's matriarch presenting him with a small pastry as her children gathered round to celebrate. But that had been many years ago. The eldest son, William, had been the last Weasley still left working as a Dursley servant, and he had been let go two years ago. For a lack of funds to pay him, so the Dursleys claimed. Now, it was just Harry. Alone.

Harry sighed, turning to his worn trunk. "Time to start the day," he murmured to himself. He then started getting dressed. His clothing had, at one point, been of decent quality, as was fitting of a servant to a barony. But not any longer. They were threadbare and mended repeatedly, barely holding together. They were ill-fitting, made for a larger man; they used to belong to William, who was taller and broad than Harry. But, there was no money to get a servant new clothing. Or so the Dursleys said. He was not sure he believed that.

Harry shrugged those thoughts away. It would not do him well to dwell on his hatred of the Dursleys. It would not change anything, except possibly get him fired. He did not know what he do if the Dursleys got rid of him. The estate was all he had known his entire life.

With one last attempt to tame his unruly hair, he gave up, leaving it down around his shoulders. Then, he started on his morning tasks. 'To earn his keep', as the Baroness Dursley liked to remind him. His only worth was the work he did around the estate.

Harry left his room and headed out of the kitchen to collect eggs from the coop. After, he would make breakfast for the three Dursleys. Then, off to the orchard. Then, take the rye and extra eggs to market. He sighed. Another long day, just like every other day.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry hummed softly to himself, carrying a basket at his side, as he walked to the orchard. His stomach growled, unhappy at being empty. He had not prepared himself something when he fixed the Dursleys' meals, not that he would have been allowed anything in the kitchen. He would eat an apple or two off the trees. Those would not be missed, since the orchard was barely tended.

One man could hardly take perfect care of ten acres of apple trees. Harry could barely keep the trees healthy. He could not pick all the apples of the trees, and even if he did, what would he do with all the apples. He could not take them to the market with the rye and eyes. He could only take what he could pull in the estate's old pull cart, and the apples were not worth their weight to haul to market.

It was a shame, since Harry remembered how popular the apples were. People were always so eager for them. A couple times, Harry swore he thought he saw what looked like royal servants buying some. He smiled faintly at the memory. Their apples may have been served in the palace. What a thought!

Harry sighed. Now, the apples were only used for pastries. The Dursleys, Dudley in particular, did not like fresh fruit. The man would only eat a fruit or vegetable if it had been cooked, flavored, or sweetened. So many apples gone to waste. The orchard was huge, at least fifty acres.

Harry walked deep into the trees, munching on an apple he picked. His eyes drifted halfway closed as he let everything soak into him. The orchard was always so peaceful. Harry loved it. Just the wind gently rustling the leaves of the canopy, birds occasionally twittering. Which is why he frowned when he heard something odd. A noise out of place. It almost sounded like a horse snorting. A twig snapped, as if by a hoof pawing the ground. Harry blinked his eyes fully open and looked around.

There, a ways in front of him, was a horse, tied off loosely to one of the trees. Harry crept slowly to get a better look. Dieu, it was a magnificent horse. Shining black coat that reflected the sun like a raven's feathers, with a meticulously manicured tale and mane. The animal was also wearing a beautifully crafted saddle and bridle: gleaming leather with intricate patterns worked into the material. This was a horse of one of the nobility. And there, picking apples off a nearby tree, was that nobleman.

With his poor eyesight, Harry could only discern the noble's pale blond hair, but that did not matter. The man was a thief, stealing apples from the Dursleys. He did not know how or why, but he was sure it would get back to the Baron and he, Harry, would be blamed for the apples. He needed to stop the man.

Dropping the basket, Harry knelt and picked up several apples off the ground. Straightening, Harry threw one with all his might at the nobleman. It connected solidly with the man's shoulder. "Thief!" he shouted, getting ready to throw another.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco cursed as something small hit him, hard, in the shoulder blade. The pain shocked him and caused him to drop his saddle bag, apples rolling out onto the ground. A male's voice shouted out from behind him, calling him a 'thief'. He turned towards the voice, and then ducked to the ground. Because another apple was heading towards him. It soared over his head and hit the trunk of the tree, splattering on impact.

"Merde, he has a good arm," he murmured under his breath. He raised his hands up in surrender, hoping another apple would not be coming his way. Wrong. There was another apple, this one coming at his head. He ducked behind a tree for safety. "Dieu, I surrender!" he shouted at the other man, "Please stop throwing apples at me!"

Silence reigned, and no more apples came his way. Cautiously, Draco poked his head around the tree to see. A man stood between the trees, a basket resting on the ground near his feet. He struck an impressive figure against the foliage: proud and strong. The pose was at odds with his attire, which even from a distance, Draco could tell was haggard. Who was this man?

The man cocked his chin up, defiant, an apple still in his hand. "Who dares steal from Baron Dursley?" he demanded. Demanded. Of Draco, Crown Prince of France. He wanted to laugh, but wisely held it back. He did not want that apple flying towards him.

He stepped out from behind the tree, brushing off his clothing. "Who dares throw apples …" He trailed off, the other man's words finally registering. "Hang on, 'Dursley'?" he asked, incredulously, "These are not Dursley lands."

The other man glared, walking forward. "Yes, they are," he stated, "Baron Dursley owns this orchard. And the apples." He nodded towards Draco's forgotten saddle bag.

Draco frowned. "No, Dursley lands are much further to the south. I did not ride that far this morning," he said, "And they do not have enough land for an orchard this size." He motioned around them. The orchard they were standing in was vast, at least thirty acres, probably more.

The man looked confused, his arm with the apple lowering. "But if …" He trailed off. He shook his head, wild black waves dancing around his face. "No, stop, you're wrong," he said, glowering, "And you're distracting me from my point." He raised his arm again. "Thief! How dare you?!"

Draco filed the reaction away for later analysis. Right now, he had an anger servant, though he did look regal, threatening him with an apple. How absurd. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, a smug smirk on his face.

The man frowned. "No," he stated, looking wary.

Draco chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, you don't know the face of your own Dauphin?"

The man blanched, then looked angry. "No, impossible," he said, "You're just pretending to be him. Which is a crime!" He raised the apple higher in threat.

Draco groaned in frustration. "Oh, for the love of –" he cut off, bending to grab his bag. He riffled around until he found the small coin purse he kept in there. Without bothering to count, he just tossed the bag to the other man. It contained way more than the price of the apples he took, but it would hopefully shut the other man up. "There, now I'm not a thief," he said, walking over to his horse.

The other man's eyes widened as he looked inside the pouch. If Draco would hazard a guess, he would say the man had never seen that much money before in his life. "But sir," he started, looking at Draco with bright emerald eyes.

Draco waved away whatever protest the other man would have said. He attached the bag to the saddle and climbed up onto his horse. "Keep it," he said, reigns in hand, "For the apples and your silence. Farewell …" He frowned. "I did not catch your name."

The most becoming blush spread across the other man's cheeks. "Harry," he answered with a shy smile, "My name is Harry."

Draco grinned. "Well then, farewell, Harry," he said, "I hope to make your acquaintance again." He smirked. "Maybe without getting hit with apples?" He chuckled as the blush brightened. Then he rode off, back to the palace. Lyra would be so happy with the apples. Pink Ladies were her favorite, and they had not been able to get any for several years.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

So sorry guys! I'd forgotten I posted this story on here, and thus had forgotten to update it with new chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

When Draco got back to the palace, he went looking for Lyra. From a servant, he discovered that his sister had locked herself in her chambers, refusing everyone entry. Apparently, she was upset by Draco leaving for his ride. She had thought he was running away when he stormed off after his argument with his father.

Draco shook his head as he walked towards her chambers. Such the flare for the dramatic. It must run in their genes, since there was lots of shouting and door slamming during the argument. Got to love that fiery royal blood.

Draco finally reached Lyra's door, the guard looking distressed. It seemed that even her guards had not been exempt from her temper. With a glance down to his bag at his side, he knocked on the door.

"Go away," a girl's voice wailed throw the wood, "I said to leave me alone!"

Draco chuckled. "My little lioness," he cooed with a smirk, "Won't you let in your brother?"

There was silence, then the quick pattering of feet. The door suddenly opened and a little body slammed into him. "Draco," his little sister crooned, "You're back. I'd thought you had left. Left me here. Alone."

Draco hugged her back. "Never, Lyra," he said, running his fingers through pale blonde curls, "If I was running away, I would take you with me."

Lyra nodded, still clutching tight around his waist. Draco sighed and glanced at the guards. The men were staring unwaveringly forward, ignoring the pair. Draco then maneuvered them into the room and closed the door back. He led Lyra to a chaise, sitting down as well when she refused to let him go.

"I have a present for you," he murmured, reaching for his bag. Lyra's head popped up. Even though her eyes were red and puffy, which he felt extremely guilty about being the cause of, she had that mischievous and excited glint to her silver eyes. The same look she always got when Draco brought her something.

"A present?" Lyra asked, letting go of Draco and reaching for the bag, "What is it? Give it here!"

Because he likes to torture his sister, Draco held the bag out of her reach. He laughed as she struggled and crawled over him trying to get it.

"Draacooo," she whined, collapsing against his chest. In their struggles, they ended up lying flat on the chaise. With one last laugh, Draco lowered the bag and handed it to Lyra. Draco grunted as she elbowed him in the stomach on her way to sitting upright. When they were alone, propriety tended to go right out the window.

Lyra opened the bag, then squealed. Very loudly. Right near his ears. "Dray, where did you find them?" she asked, bringing an apple up to her eyes to inspect. She took a bite and hummed in appreciation.

Draco sat up as well, rearranging them on the chaise. "When I rode out to clear my head, I came across an orchard of them," he answered. He leaned back, wincing as his shoulder blade rubbed against the back of the chaise. It seemed he had a bruise from where the apple hit him. "I don't think the care-taker liked me."

Lyra chuckled between bites. "Oh no," she cooed, "Someone doesn't like the pompous Dauphin?" She reached out a finger to tap on Draco's nose, which he promptly mimed biting.

"He called me a thief," Draco said, " _And_ , he threw apples at me. One hit my shoulder, and now it is probably bruised." He pouted a little, trying to get some sympathy, but his sister just laughed at him. With a sigh, he reached into the bag and grabbed himself an apple. Dieu, they were delicious. Silence reigned as the siblings ate their apples.

Draco let his mind wander back to his encounter with the other man. Harry. Such a bundle of contradictions. Obviously a servant, but proud like a noble. Loyal. And gorgeous: raven waves, golden tan, emerald eyes, muscular. But Draco kept going back to what the man said: _Dursley lands_.

Draco finished his apple and sighed. He pressed a kiss to the top of Lyra's head. "Something the caretaker said is bothering me," he said as he stood up, "I need to go to the noble registry. I think … there might be a noble claiming land that is not his."

Lyra nodded, picking up a book from the table and getting comfortable on the chaise. "You go do that," she replied, "I know you won't let it go until you figure it. Have fun." She waved him off, already lost in the pages.

Draco smiled softly, shaking his head. He was glad she enjoyed reading more than other frivolous pursuits, like embrodary, but sometimes she got so absorbed that she ignored the real world. "I'll come get you for dinner, then," he said as he opened the door, "Father wants us all there. Some big announcement or something." That said, Draco left and headed down to the archives, where, in large bound books, were a record of all the nobles of France and their holdings.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco frowned as he walked out of the records. He had been correct. The Dursley land _was_ further south, close to the southern coast. The lands he had been on, the lands Harry said were the Dursleys', actually belonged to the Potters. Comte and Comtesse Potter. Draco had never heard mention of them, which frustrated him to no end. How could the court just _forget_ about a noble family?

Draco could already feel a headache coming on, and he still had to suffer through dinner with his father. Joy. Their argument that morning about his marital options was still fresh in his mind, and he really did not want to be in same room as the king.

After dragging Lyra from her books, the pair made their way to the family dining room. They stood by their chairs and waited patiently for their parents to arrive. After only a couple of minutes, King Lucius and Queen Narcissa entered. Then, they all sat.

A tense silence settled as the food was served. Draco glanced to the side at Lyra, seeing her try not to squirm in her chair. Thankfully, it was not a fancy meal, just the minimum courses. Hopefully, they could get through this meal quickly. Without conversation. But it was not to be.

After the second course was brought out, his father cleared his throat and looked determinedly at Draco. Great. "Son, about what we discussed," he began, but Draco cut him off, not wanting to continue that rehash that conversation. He needed to distract and redirect.

"I was in the archives earlier," Draco drawled, taking a sip of his wine to play at nonchalance, "Looking through the noble registry to evaluate the different families, when one caught my eye." He heard Lyra try to swallow her giggles against her cup, and he attempted to kick her under the table, to no avail. "Potter," he stated, "I'm not familiar with them." His eyes flicked between his mother and father to gauge their reactions.

His father just looked confusedly blank while his mother frowned. The King spoke first.

"Potter? How am I supposed to know?" his father answered, leaning back in his chair, "There are too many courtiers to keep track." The man waved his hand dismissively. "What does it matter, anyway? One courtier, either way. There are so many to choose from. Just pick a different one."

Draco felt his anger building at the man's callousness about the members of his own court. His sister's hand crept onto his leg, but it did nothing to calm him down. Mercifully, his mother spoke up before he verbally ripped his father to pieces.

"I remember them," the Queen said softly, "Well, I remember the Comtesse. Lily. She was from Sweden, I think." She absently tapped on the side of her wineglass. "We were friends. Before. The Comte Potter swept her off her feet. He rarely came to court, but somehow …" She shrugged, turning back to Draco. "They married, and she left court with him. They had a child, but there were complications from the birth. She died. I don't know what happened to the Comte or the baby."

Draco nodded, dropping his hand into his lap to cover his sister's. He gave it a squeeze to let her know he was back in control of his emotions. "Thank you, _Mother,_ " he said, reigning in his urge to glare at his father, "I was just curious on the matter."

Dinner finished with no other conversation. Draco and Lyra stood as their father escorted their mother from the room.

Draco sighed once the door closed behind the pair, leaving just him and his sister in the room. He turned to look at her. "So, I had an idea," he began to say, but Lyra interrupted.

"Oh, that's so terrible," she drawled, smirking at his answering glare.

"Shut it," he said, tugging on one of her curls, "As I was saying. How would you like to go on a picnic tomorrow? Just you and me? We could go for a ride. Explore the countryside. Settle in for our meal amongst the trees."

She laughed at him. "That's an elaborate way of saying you want to go back to the orchard. To see that feisty servant again," she teased, "I accept your proposal. I'll tell the guards to have our horses saddled by ten in the morning."

She stretched up to pat at Draco's cheek before flouncing to the door. She opened it and paused, glancing back at him. He did not trust that look on her face. "I'll let the cook know to pack extra food in our basket," she announced, "I've been rather hungry as of late. Like I could two whole meals instead of one." She laughed again, then left.

Draco shook his head at the empty room. Dieu, Lyra would be the death of him. She always managed to see through his fanciful words to the truth. And what she had said about the food, that was brilliant. He had thought to himself that Harry had looked a bit thin, and bringing addition food, enough for the other man, was no hardship. With a slight smile on his face, Draco went back to his chambers. He could not wait for tomorrow.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

There, now this one is up-to-date =)


	6. Chapter 6

Draco and Lyra set out from the castle, his black stallion and her white speckled mare riding side by side. There was a basket attached to the back of his saddle, while in Lyra's saddle bags contains the other supplies: blankets, utensils, etc.

Once they were in the forest, out of the sight of the castle, Lyra pulled on her reigns to stop her horse. Draco did not notice at first, continuing forward for several paces. When he turned around, Lyra was on the ground and digging through her saddle bag.

He walked his horse forward, eyebrow arched. "What are you doing?" he asked.

She made a face, pulling something out of the bag. "Changing," she answered, "I hate riding in skirts, but Mother visited me in my chambers while I was getting ready. Hence, the dress."

"And here is the best place to do that?" Draco asked incredulously. She just glared, twirling her finger at him.

Draco held up his hands in surrender, turning his horse around with his knees. "Whatever," he said, "Do what you want."

After Lyra changed, dress tucked into a bag, they were off again. Draco led them down the path for about an hour, then veered off it. The trees were thick, the light green and shifting with the leaves. Soon, they could see gaps in the trees ahead, and the trees looked more uniform. They were nearing the orchard. At the border to between orchard and forest, there was a crumbling stone retaining wall. Draco nudged his horse to jump over it, Lyra following just behind.

Draco glanced at his sister as they rode slowly into the orchard. Lyra was looking around, a thoughtful and sad look on her face. As if she felt his eyes, she turned her head to look at him. He raised an eyebrow to encourage her to speak her thoughts.

"It's so sad," she murmured, "The trees … they're not maintained. They're overgrown. And so many apples. Everywhere. A few have sprouted." She waved her hand back at the wall behind him. "That wall."

Draco nodded. "It looks like the property is understaffed," he said, "We can ask Harry when we see him."

The pair continued through the trees, looking for a good place for their picnic. They finally found a spot and dismounted. Draco took basket off his saddle while Lyra set up the blankets. With the horses tied off to a tree, they settled in: Draco with his head in Lyra's lap and Lyra reading a book, occasionally running her fingers through his hair. And so, they waited.

An hour later, they heard leaves scrunching as someone approached. "Back again?" a voice called out.

Draco smiled, sitting up. "Yes, indeed, Harry," he called. He frowned as the other man walked to them. The dappled light was playing kicks on his face, making a dark spot over his eye. As Harry walked closer to them, Draco saw the truth: there was a dark spot on the man's eye. Harry had a black eye.

Draco stood up and walked quickly to the other man. He lifted a hand up, fingers almost touching the purpled skin, but he held back. It angered him. Someone had dared to touch the man. To hurt him. To mar his perfect olive skin. He wanted justice.

"Who?" he asked softly, silver eyes locking with emerald.

Harry broke contact and looked down. "It doesn't matter," he murmured, "I deserved it."

Draco saw red. This perfect man … thought he deserved to be hit. To be hurt. Draco shook his head at that. He wanted to protect his man. This … servant. Dieu, this was too much. He could not handle his feelings at the moment. Not for a servant. A voice cleared behind him, jarring Draco out of his thoughts.

He and Harry turn to look. Lyra was standing up by the blanket. She raised an eyebrow at Draco. He sighed.

"Harry, this is my sister, Princess Lyra," Draco said, waving his hand at her, "Lyra, this is Harry."

The siblings watched as Harry just blinked, looking between the two. Then, he paled. "Dieu, you weren't lying," the man said faintly, "I'm going to die. I attacked the Dauphin." He started to panic.

Draco stepped forward, grabbing the other man. "Harry, breathe," he muttered. But that did not seem like it was helping. He pulled the man against his chest. "Come on, Harry, breathe with me. Match my breaths." He exaggerated his breathing, and slowly, the other man calmed.

Draco managed to get Harry sitting down on the blanket, and Lyra pulled the food out of the bag. The three ate in silence, relaxing in the shade of the trees. Once the food was gone, Lyra looked at Draco and nodded meaningfully at Harry. Draco sighed again.

"So, Harry," he said, hating himself to dragging this all up, "You said you worked for the Dursleys? Said this was their land?"

The man paused, glancing between the siblings before nodding.

Draco nodded as well. "How long have you worked for them?"

"All my life," Harry answered, "I don't remember a time when I didn't." He rubbed a hand through his hair, which hung loose, just brushing his shoulders.

Lyra looked to Draco for a moment before turning to the other man. "And did they always live here?" she asked, "They didn't move, did they? Taking their staff with them?"

Harry frowned. "No, they've lived here as long as I can remember," he said, "And there is no staff, other than me." He looked down at his lap, cheeks colored in embarrassment. "There used to be others, but with money being short, they had to let all the others go. I wasn't, because they essentially own me." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm an orphan with nowhere else to go."

Draco's anger boiled again. It was infuriating, how little the other man thought of himself. He had been so conditioned, by the Dursleys, that he accepted his horrible treatment like it was commonplace practice. The information he gained about the Dursleys came second to the insight to the man sitting there in front of him.

Lyra met his across the blanket, and he could see his anger reflected in hers. They needed to plan. But later. Now, they would sit and enjoy with their picnic.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry smiled softly as he walked back. The day had been wonderful. It was nice to just relax, enjoying the sun, shade, and good food. The company had been great. Perfect.

He blushed, thinking of the siblings. The man, who he met before, and his little sister. Draco and Lyra. The _Dauphin_ and the _Princesse_. He shook his head at the ludicrousness of the whole experience. The royal siblings, heirs to the throne of France, had spent several hours relaxing in an orchard with him. The concern that burned in Draco's eyes … it had felt … so wonderful.

As delightful as those hours had been, he knew it could not happen again. Would not happen. Dieu, it should not have happened in the first place. He was just a lowly servant. No, he was essentially a slave to the Dursleys. And Draco. Draco was the Dauphin. Destined to be King of France.

Harry needed to nip his feelings for the man in the bud. It would do no one any good if he allowed them to take root. To grow. Regardless of the care and concern he showed, Draco could never be with Harry. The man was nobility, a royal, and would have to be with some of noble blood. In other words, not him.

For the rest of the day, Harry continued on with his duties. The time in the orchard had taken a large chunk of his day. Normally, that would not be that big of a deal, but today it was. The Baron and Baroness were holding a feast for Dudley, in celebration of his eighteenth birthday, which Harry was in charge of preparing. Even though the young baron's birthday was before Harry's, they had postponed the celebration because some of his friends were out of the country.

Friends. Harry could not help rolling his eyes at the thought. Dudley did not have friends; he had sycophants. Lowly nobles, ones with hardly any power or money, that attached themselves to horridness of Dudley, just for his perceived influence. They did not actually like the man. They talked, and Harry overheard. No one paid any attention to servants.

Harry entered the kitchen, a basket of eggs balanced on top of a basket of apples at his hip. He had a lot of work before him. He just hoped he was able to finish it all to the standards the Dursleys expected.

* * *

I know it's short, but I'm posting two, and the other one is much longer. Nearly five times as long =)


	8. Chapter 8

Ta-Da! Enjoy!

* * *

As soon as they returned to the palace, Draco had gone back down to the archives. Lyra had planned to go as well, but Queen Narcissa had other plans. Their mother had whisked her away for an afternoon of bonding. Probably embroidery. Draco shuddered. Lyra had given him a pleading look over their mother's shoulder, but Draco had left her to her fate. Better to suffer her anger than the ire of Queen Narcissa.

Draco needed to know more about the Potters. He needed evidence, leverage, against the Dursleys. He needed to get Harry away from them. That pure, wonderful, strong man was being destroyed by them, beaten down, physically and mentally. He could not leave the man with them.

"What happened to you?" Draco murmured to the books. He was looking through one that listed the history of the Potters. Unfortunately, it was mostly ancient history. The family originated in Germany, moving to France eighty years ago. Finally, at the end of the book, was a list of marriages. The last one, between Jameson Potter and Lilian Eka, daughter of the ambassador from Sweden, was dated nineteen years ago.

Draco frowned. That was all the book said. How useless. He moved that one aside and moved on to the next. A few hours later and still nothing. Shifting through a stack of documents, he finally found something. A death certificate. For Comtesse Lilian Potter. Cause of death was complications from child birth. Underneath, he found another a birth certificate. What his mother had said was true. But what happened after? He kept looking, and his throat tightened when he found another death certificate. This one was for Comte Jameson Potter, four years later. Hunting accident. So. What happened to the child?

Draco found another book, an older one, that listed properties belonging to nobles. The one he looked through before was more current. Maybe this one would give other information. Halfway through the book, there was mentioning of a townhouse, in the town right outside the palace. Comte Nicholas Potter, father of Jameson, bought it for his wife. Maybe there would be answers there.

He stood up and stretched, his back creaking. He glanced out the window. He had been in there several hours, but there was still enough daylight left. Enough to go find this townhouse. To go find more answers. But first, he needed to go get Lyra. She would never forgive him if he went without her. On their way back, she shared that she found Harry fascinating as well. Her curiosity was peaked, and she wanted to know what happened with the Potters and the Dursleys.

After asking around to a couple of servants, Draco made his way to Lyra's chambers. Apparently, his sister had managed to escape their mother's clutches. A worthy feat. He knocked on her door.

Nothing, and then, "What soars in the night and roars in silence?"

Draco chuckled. It was one of their old riddles, to make sure it was the other before opening the door. In case it was one of their parents. He cleared his throat. "The Dragon Constellation," he answered.

The door cracked open and Lyra poked her head out. She raised a pale eyebrow at him. "Yes?" she asked.

"Care to come into town with me?" Draco asked. When she frowned at him, he sighed. "There is _something_ that I think you'd like to … _investigate_ … with me?" He stared at her intently.

After a moment, Lyra's eyes widened and her mouth formed an "o". Finally, she understood his meaning. "Yes," she said, "Just let me change into something suitable for riding." She made to close the door.

Draco stopped it, giving his sister a meaningful look. "A dress," he said, "We will be out with the townspeople, and it is unbefitting of a princess to be seen in pants."

Lyra scrunched up her face, sticking out her tongue, and she shut the door in his face. A few moments later, she flounced out of her room, spinning around in a circle. "Happy?" she asked petulantly, as her skirt continued to sway from the movement.

"Enthused," Draco answered in a deadpan, offering her his arm. With a pinch to his side, she accepted it.

The pair made their way down to the stables, where their horses were saddled quickly by the stablehands. They rode down the path that hugged the castle wall, towards the town.

"So, what did you find?" Lyra asked.

"A townhouse belonging to the Potter line," Draco answered, "I don't know what we'll find, but hopefully it will be more than I found down in the archives." The path ahead was busier, closer to town. "I found two death certificates, and a birth certificate. Like Mother said, the Comtesse died from child birth while the child survived. The Comte died four years later. There was nothing about what happened to the child. That was fourteen years ago." He looked over to Lyra. "The child would be eighteen, if they are alive."

Lyra thought that all over as they wove their way through the streets of the town. People moved aside, the royal crest on their saddles giving away their identities. "Was the child a boy or a girl?" she asked finally.

Draco shrugged. "It did not say," he answered, continuing before Lyra could protest, "The certificate in the archives was an incomplete copy: no name or gender listed for the child."

Lyra huffed in annoyance. Draco had felt the same when he had found the document. Who would make an incomplete copy in the first place? Let alone one that went into the royal archives?

The siblings continued down the streets until finally Draco held up a hand to Lyra to stop. They had reached the townhouse. It was on the end of a row of houses that belonged to various courtiers. Draco hopped down from his horse, then went to help Lyra. The pair tied their horses up to the fence and climbed the stairs.

Draco tried the door, but it was locked. He frowned, jiggling it again.

"Oh, move over," Lyra whined, bumping him out of the way with her hip. She pulls a couple of pins out of her hair and stuck them into the lock. A short while later, the lock clicked and Lyra pushed the door open the door. She smirked at Draco's dumbfounded expression and entered the house. Draco was hot on her heals.

"How do you know how to do that?" he asked as he closed the door back, " _Why_ do you know how to do that?"

Lyra just laughed at him, moving around the entryway. Draco shook his head at his sister's antics and looked around. Though it was simple and aged, there was a grandeur to the small dwelling. It was obvious that a noble had lived there, but not for many, many years.

"It's taken care of," Lyra spoke, running her hand along the carved door molding, "But barely. There's an air of … not quite neglect, but … something …" She trailed off and looked back at Draco.

He nodded. He had been thinking the same thing. He cleared this throat. "Let's continue looking," he said softly. The air was heavy, with what he could not pinpoint, and he did not want to disturb it. "Hopefully we'll find something."

The pair tentatively went through the house. Furniture was draped with linen, to protect from sun and age. Each room was more of the same: elegant cravings, covered furniture, and heavy air.

Draco stared out a stained glass window, the colored glass distorting the world outside. He absently ran his fingers over the frame, lost in thought. Still nothing. He had hoped this house would give some answers, but he was wrong.

"Draco?" Lyra called out, faintly. They had split up to try and find more clues. Her voice pulled him from his melancholy thoughts. "Come here."

It took him a few tries to find which room she was in, but eventually he did. They stood in what appeared to be a study; there was a desk, a couple of armchairs, and a magnificent fireplace. Lyra stood before the latter, a dust-stained linen in her hand. She was staring up at a painting on the mantel. Draco stepped beside her and looked up. His breath caught.

There, in oil, was a couple. A beautiful woman, with dark auburn hair and bright emerald eyes. Familiar emerald eyes. A handsome man, strong and proud, with raven waves pulled back at the nap of the neck. All so familiar.

"The Comte Jameson Potter and the Comtesse Lilian Potter," Lyra breathed softly, looking away to meet Draco's eyes. In those matching silver eyes, Draco saw the same realization he had reached. Harry, the servant from the orchard, was the missing child of Comte and Comtesse. And the man had no idea who he was.

"What are you miscreants doing?!" A voice shouted, causing the siblings to nearly jump out of their skins. They had thought they were alone, but apparently, they had been mistaken.

A grizzled old man stood right behind them. He snatched the linen out of Lyra's hand. With a stool he had brought with him, he rehung the fabric over the painting, covering the couple up again. He gave a satisfied hum, and then turned to face the siblings, angry expression on his face.

"Now, who are you and why are you trespassing?" the old man demanded.

Lyra flinched at the tone. Draco stepped in front of her, to shield her at least somewhat from the man's ire. "I am Prince Draco and this is Princess Lyra. We were looking for information about the Potters."

A look of grief flashed across the man's face, and he sighed. He walked over and leaned against the desk. "Yes, it was a shame, what happened to them," he said, "They were too young."

Draco shared a look with Lyra before stepping closer to the man. "What can you tell me about their son?" he asked softly, trying not to antagonize the man.

The man shook his head. "It was decided he should remain at the manor, instead of here," he answered. Draco vaguely remembered seeing a room in the house with smaller furniture, like it had belonged to a child. "Said the town would be too overwhelming for the boy who had just lost his father. His only parent." The man rubbed his face. "I would have looked after him, but some relatives were brought in to care for him. Comtesse Lilian had an older sister, who had married a baron … I can't remember the name." He glanced up at the covered painting. "He should be eighteen by now. Soon, he'll probably come back here."

While the old man had been lost in his thoughts, Draco's fury grew within him. Everything started to piece together, and he did not like the picture it gave one bit. He reached out to clasp the old man's shoulder. "Thank you for telling us," he said, his anger tightly controlled, "The young Comte will return soon. I promise you that."


	9. Chapter 9

The world spun as Harry finished mucking out the stable. He was so lightheaded. And weak. He could barely lift the pitchfork. And bending over caused his back to stretch and burn, wetness dripping down his skin. Thankfully, he only had a couple more chores before he could go to sleep.

The previous night had been a success. At least, he had thought so. The party went well. The guests liked the food. Even Dudley had looked as if he was enjoying himself. But that had apparently been a lie. After everyone had left, while Harry had been busy cleaning up the mess, the young master had complained about something or other to the Baron and Baroness.

That morning, Harry was dragged out of his room. His room, which had been his safe haven. His door at banged open, jarring him from sleep. Baron Dursley had then grabbed him by the throat and pulled him outside. Once tied to a post, the baron produced the whip and started given Harry lashes. But this time, it was worse than ever. It was like the leather had been something, maybe salt or lemon juice. Harry had backed out after fifteen.

He had come to when his bonds were cut, collapsing heavily to the ground. He blinked up and saw the Baroness. She sneered down at him, throwing his shirt and a vest at him. "Wear that," she had spat, "To cover the blood." And then she had disappeared into the house.

It must have been bad. Because, the previous times, he had not been given something to hide the blood stains. Maybe since he was going to the market this afternoon, they wanted to hide ... but why? A master was allowed to whip a servant if they did something wrong. Why would it matter if anyone saw or not?

If Harry had the strength, he would have shrugged at those thoughts. What did it matter? He did not presume to know the minds of nobles. How could he? He was just an orphaned servant.

With the stable done, Harry walked to the kitchen to get his basket. He frowned down at it. If he filled it would apples like he normally did, he was not sure he would be able to lift. Not in his current state. However, he really did not have much of a choice. He had found a note in the kitchen, which read that the Dursleys wanted apple Canelés with dinner. He needed fresh apples for that.

Harry sighed. He rested the basket against his hip and started to make his way to the orchard. The walk seemed to take forever that day, but eventually he reached the orchard. He walked under the tall trees, the dappled light shining softly down on him. It was peaceful. Calm.

A throat cleared, disturbing the soft ambience, but Harry could not muster up the energy to jump. He glanced up and saw Draco. Heat bloomed throughout his body at the sight of the blond man. He knew he should not … swore to himself that he would not … But Harry just could not resist how he felt when in the Prince's presence. He walked to him, careful not to show his back or how weak he felt. He remembered how the blond been with simple black eye; he worried about how Draco would react to lashes.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry, guys. Life got busy. Also, I'd been forgetting to post here, so here are all the chapters I've neglected to post.

* * *

Draco smiled as the other man approached. He was glad to see him. The warm, fuzzy feeling in the chest that blossomed every time he was in Harry's presence spread through the rest of his body. The news he had to share dampened the mood a little, but not enough to wipe the smile off Draco's face.

The other man smiled back, but he looked off. Tired. Beaten down, more so than before. Draco could have sworn he saw the man wove a little bit as he walked, but passed that thought off as his overactive, protective imagination. He walked forward to embrace the servant. Comte, he corrected in his mind. That was going to be a fun conversation. But food first; that would hopefully soften the blow.

As he pulled away, he caught a grimace on Harry's face. He wondered why. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. "I've bought us some lunch," he said, rubbing his hand through his hair, " I thought we could enjoy some time alone. Together. Under the shade of these magical apple trees." He waved his hand around, to the blanket spread out and the basket resting on it.

Harry nodded, sitting down. Draco joined him. He reached into the basket and began to serve them. It was really nice, but what he needed to tell the other man was eating away at him. Draco distracted himself by looking at the other man.

Harry was looking pale. Paler than yesterday. There was an ashy hue to the normally gorgeous, rich olive skin. He mostly just nibbled at the food, though he did eat a decent amount. The man would shift slightly then wince, like he was stiff but moving to relieve that made something hurt. Merde, if those vile people hurt him again.

The rest of the meal was spent chatting softly about nothing important. The sun beat down mercilessly on them, even with the partial shade of the leaves above. Draco plucked at neck of his tunic. It was heavy, thick, and it felt like it was suffocating him. He made a snap decision. They were in the middle of a basically abandoned orchard; it was just the two of them.

Draco grabbed the fabric and pulled it off. That left him in just his thin undershirt. He sighed in relief. The wind went right through the material and cooled him down. "Much better," he murmured, then looked to the other man. And frowned.

Harry was biting his lip, looking conflicted. He fingered the vest wore over his shirt. It was a different from the rest of his clothes; it was not worn down to the threads. It was nice quality, like what a noble would wear. After a moment, he shrugged it off, leaving just the shirt. He folded it in his lap. Draco tilted his head in confusion. The lining was dark red, but only on the back part. Dark red … like blood.

Draco looked up at the other man, horror and anger warring behind his eyes. "Harry … what?" he trailed off, not able to find the right words.

The other man just shook his head, waving his hand at the other man. "It's nothing," he reassured, "Don't worry." He smiled weakly. "So, I'm surprised you're here again." He bit his lip. "Not that I'm complaining or anything. I like you being here." He ducked down, obviously embarrassed.

Draco smiled and stood up. "I love coming here. Seeing you," he said as he dug through his saddle bags for the records the old servant from the townhouse gave him, "There's something I need to tell you." He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts. "Remember what Lyra and I asked you about? About the Dursley's? It has to do with that. Somewhat."

Draco turned back around to face Harry. He then gasped. Harry had turned a bit to reach into the basket, exposing his back. The shirt was drenched with blood. Fresh too, not had enough time to dry. They had done something to him. Whipped him, by the looks of it.

"What happened?" he breathed, crouching down next to Harry. He reached out like he was going to touch his shoulder.

The other man flinched away from the touch. "Nothing," he said, jumping up. He wavered, like it hurt, and then stood tall. He looked over his shoulder at Draco, forcing a smile. "This was nice, but I have to get back to my duties."

Draco sighed sadly, nodding. "Alright," he answered. He tucked the papers behind his back. It was not important right then. Harry, and what happened, and what Draco was going to do about it that was. He watched the other man leave.

Harry stumbled over a root, and Draco stood up. Something was wrong. The other man wavered again. He made it the man's side just as emerald eyes rolled up. Draco caught him as he collapsed.

Trying not to panic, Draco laid the other man across his saddle. He untied the stallion and climbed up into the saddle, settling behind Harry to hold him in place. Taking the reins, he kneed his horse into motion. He would take the other man back to castle. There, he would get treatment and finally learn the truth about himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco had made good time back to the castle. The stable hands were shocked at the sight he made galloping on to the grounds: Harry laying across the horse in front of Draco, anger blazing in Draco's silver eyes. Smartly, they did not asked questions. They just helped Draco down, settled the other man in his arms, and then went off to take care of the horse.

Draco stormed through the halls, ignoring the stares and the whispers. He did not care; his only concern at the moment was the man in his arms. The very light man. More proof of his mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys. More proof to use against them.

Those thoughts were derailed when Draco reached his quarters. The guards opened the door without prompting. Draco entered and went to lay Harry on the bed. He knew there were suites for the courtiers in a different wing of the castle, but Draco wanted to keep him close. He did not want the other man out of his sight. One of his attendants, the Marquis Neville Longbottom, appeared at his shoulder.

"Go fetch the court physician," Draco said, rolling Harry onto his stomach. He saw Neville blanch at the sight of the blood staining the back of the man's shirt. "Severe lashing, improperly cared for. Tell him to bring everything necessary. Hurry." Neville left right after.

Pulling a knife out of his boot, Draco began to work at removing the stained material. He sliced carefully. After a few minutes, it fell away. Draco cursed. It was worse than he thought. Harry must have been whipped at least twenty times, probably more. They were fresh, most still oozing blood, sluggishly. And the wounds were irritated, like something had been rubbed into them. Or … the whip had been coated in something beforehand. He frowned, looking closer. The skin not cut open, was covered in scars. As if from a previous lashing.

Draco saw red, his hands clenching. Those people … Draco would make sure they were punished for what they did to Harry. That they suffered. He was distracted from his murderous plans by Neville returning with Severus Snape, the court physician, and the older man's assistant.

Draco stood back to let the pair work. He dismissed the Marquis, who was looking rather green. Harry's back was cleaned. The cuts were stitched up. A paste was spread over everything to help with healing before the whole thing was bandaged. The pair left, and Draco made his way to the bed. He brushed a piece of raven hair away from the man's face.

"Everything will be okay," he whispered, "I promise."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry groaned softly as he woke up. He frowned. He was laying on something soft, softer than anything he had ever lain on before. And the bedding … It was smooth, not rough, and he was warm. He could feel a heavy blanket weighing down comfortably on him. Where _was_ he?

Harry slowly blinked his eyes open. He stared up at the ceiling. It was not familiar. It was way more extravagant and gilded than anything he had ever seen. He started to panic. Where was he?

He tried to think back, but his memory was hazy. He remembered being dragged out of bed. He shuddered … the whipping … And then, the Baroness, throwing clothing. Chores. The orchard. Draco. _Prince Draco_.

Harry tried to sit up, but pain erupted across his back. He settled back down on the soft bed, his heart rate increasing. He quickly looked around and tried to gain more from his surroundings about where he was. More expensive and gilded décor. Everything was … too fancy to be true.

Then, Harry spotted the chaise pulled up next to the bed. And the blond sleeping on the chaise. _Prince Draco_. Somehow, even sprawled awkwardly across the lavender brocade, the man looked gorgeous. Way to gorgeous to ever be with little servant Harry. And this room was too much for little servant Harry. He needed to get out, before the luxury overwhelmed him.

Harry tried to get out of bed again, going slowly this time. He pushed through the pain as silently as possible. Not as quietly as he hoped, though. At one of his gasps of pain, the blond jerked awake. The prince rubbed at his eyes as he sat up straight. He looked over at Harry on the bed and smiled soflty.

"You're awake," the blond murmured, leaning forward. He gently ran his hand over the back of Harry's. "That was terrifying. It was iffy there for a bit; some of the cuts were gaping and almost infected. But you're going to be fine."

Harry swallowed, feeling panicked. "What … Where am I?" he whispered. His voice was scratchy. Weak.

The blond smiled down at him, tucking a piece of hair behind Harry's ear. "You're in the palace. The grand castle," he answered, then smirked softly, "In my rooms." Draco winked.

Harry could not breathe. Not because of pain but panic. He was in the palace. In the Dauphin's room. In the man's _bed_! He pushed himself up quickly, and promptly fell to the floor. He felt hands on him, helping him up and back into the bed. He barely noticed as he struggled to get enough air. His hand was pressed against a firm chest.

"Harry. Breathe," a deep, soothing voice muttered in his ear. "With me. In. Out."

Slowly, Harry was able to gain control of his lungs and actually take in air. He blinked rapidly as his vision focused; he had not even noticed the spots until they were gone. He stared up into worried silver eyes. "Sorry," he whispered, feeling embarrassed.

The prince smiled softly. "There's nothing to be sorry for," he replied, "It must be overwhelming. And unfortunately, there are a few more stocks in store for you."


	13. Chapter 13

Draco sighed in exasperation. He had told the other man of his family, his heritage, his title. But Harry did not believe; he stubbornly held to the notion that he was the Dursleys' servant. How one man could be so obstinate, Draco did not know. Draco was at his wits' end. He had even showed the man the records he had, but still he made no headway.

It was a couple days after Draco had brought Harry to the palace. The man's wounds were healing nicely, under the surly but excellent tending of Severus Snape. The two butted heads, but Harry gave into his ministrations with only minimal griping. The man had not left Draco's rooms, still too nervous to venture out of the safety of those walls. Draco was fine with that. Courtiers were exhausting and rather vindictive; he wanted Harry more comfortable with himself and his standing before braving those vultures.

Draco was also hiding the man from his father. Not that he was ashamed of Harry or anything. However, he wanted to be a bit more prepared before he faced his father. He needed Harry to believe in his birthright, and then he needed the man to agree to his proposal. While it was a bit unconventional, it had been done in other countries and would work here: taking Harry as his consort and naming his heir to be Lyra's child, when she has one. Her marriage could still be used to political advantage; she would just marry a second or third son of a country instead of being married off to an heir. His marriage had always been planned to be in house, from one of the nobles of French court, to help solidify the nation.

Bringing himself back to the present, Draco pulled out a set of clothes from his drawer, an older set that were a bit too tight on him, and brought them to the bed. He sat on the edge of it, gently running his fingers through Harry's raven hair. "Come on, time to get out," he said, "We're going out."

He was answered with a groan. "Don't want to," came the sleepy reply.

Draco chuckled. "But we must," he cooed, scratching softly at the man's scalp, "It'll be good. You've been cooped up too long. We won't be around the palace, if that's your concern. We'll be going into the village."

Harry lifted his head to sleepily meet Draco's gaze. "Alright," he conceded after a few moments.

Draco grinned. "Perfect," he said, standing up, "I'll leave you to get dressed while I grab us some breakfast to go." He pointed to the stack of clothes. "Wear those. They should fit."

Harry followed his finger and groaned, shaking his head. "They're too fine for me, sire," he replied.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, they're not. I promise, just put them on," he said, "And don't call me that. I'm Draco to you." He winked. "Be back in a few."

With a faint chuckle, Draco slipped through the mostly empty corridors. It was early, only a few servants around to see him. The chief gave him some bread and cheese, wrapped up in a cloth. He returned to his quarters, knocking softly before entering.

Harry stood by the window, looking back over his shoulder at Draco. The man pulled nervously at the sleeves. Draco had been right; the clothes fit perfectly. The dark green velvet pants hugged his muscular thighs perfectly and tucked into the boots Draco had commissioned. The brown tunic was a little long but fit decently; the light green leaf embroidery around the neck and hems brought out the green in his eyes. He was waiting for the man to put on some more weight, to get to a healthy weight, before commissioning clothing. If Draco was being honest with himself, he was stalling partially because he liked seeing the man in his clothes.

Draco smiled, picking up his satchel. "Let's go, shall we?"

Harry nodded, following Draco out of the room and through the halls to the stables. His black stallion was waiting there in the courtyard next to a Knabstrupper stallion, the brother to Lyra's mare. A gift for Harry, though the man does not know that yet. Draco planned for it to be an engagement present, just as soon as he proposed.

Draco helped the man up into the saddle. Thankfully, Harry knew how to ride. That would be one less thing he would need to be taught. It was a long list, of everything Harry needed to know to be one of the nobility. Draco climbed up into his own saddle. The other man nudged his horse to follow Draco as they rode out of the palace.

They made good time, reaching the village shortly. Again, people moved aside as they recognized the royal crest on the saddles. The pair reached the townhouse and dismounted. Draco tied the horses off on the fence where they could reach some of plants in the front garden. Harry looked very uncomfortable; he was still wary of attention and the crowded village roads did not help.

Draco took the man's hand to offer some comfort, and led him up the stairs. Reaching the door, he pulled a key out of his pocket; Dobbeson had given it him before they left the last time. 'So you won't break in again,' the old man had said. Draco smiled at Harry as he pushed open the door.

"Come on," he said, pulling gently on the other man's hand, "There's something you have to see."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation but went willing with Draco. A few minutes later, they reached the study with the painting. Draco settled Harry back against the desk before turning to remove the cloth again. He heard a small gasp behind him. Draco turned to see Harry staring up at the painting in shock.

Draco walked over and settled next to Harry, again taking his hand. "The Comte and Comtesse Potter," he whispered, "Your parents." He let the silence stretch out so as to let the other man process for a bit.

After a long while, Draco stood up, pressing a softly kiss to the man's raven hair. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he murmurs, "There's someone you need to meet." Harry nodded absently.

Finding Dobbeson took longer than Draco expected, but eventually, after searching through two floors, he found the old man up in the attic. They made their way back down to the study. Draco opened the door and looked around.

Harry had moved, now standing right before the painting. His hand rested on the mantel as his face was tipped back to study the details. Draco cleared his throat softly, causing the man to jump slightly. Harry turned to face them, and Draco heard Dobbeson's breath catch in his throat.

"Harry," Draco said, motioning to Dobbeson, "This is the caretaker of the townhouse. You may remember him?"

Dobbeson stepped slowly, as if afraid this was all a dream. Harry frowned in concentration as he tried to place the old man. "Little Master Harry," Dobbeson whispered, his voice choked with emotion, "You've returned."

Harry's eyes widened as something clicked in his mind. "I … I remember you," he whispered, stepped closer, "I … I used to call you Dobby." He shook his head, laughing mirthlessly. "I thought it was a crazy dream. All these years …" When Harry reached Dobbeson, he hugged him fiercely, the old man mirroring his actions.

Draco smiled, leaning against the doorframe. It was a wonderful, touching moment. He felt privileged to be a part of it, even if only from the sidelines. His Harry was slowly coming to accept his new place in life, and this reunion was a large jump in the right direction for them to be together.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry sighed as he wandered through the palace gardens. They were beautiful. They had a feel like organized, meticulously maintained chaos, which in Harry's opinion was much prettier than the rigid layout Baroness Dursley had demanded for her gardens. _His gardens_. Harry shook his head in disbelief.

He still had moments where he could not believe it. That he was a Comte. That all that land was his by birthright. He scowled. That the Baroness was his aunt. That she had treated her one flesh and blood like that. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. She, and the Baron, and the young Baron would get what was coming to them. Draco had promised that they would stand for their crimes, all of their crimes, and face the dire consequences.

Harry thought back to the other day, when the blond had taken him to the Potter townhouse. He had been confused at first why the Prince was so desperate to take him to an empty townhouse. And then, he saw the painting. That had been shocking. At the palace, he had seen his reflection in mirrors that held around. He had never seen what he looked like before; he just knew he had olive tone skin and unruly black hair that the Baroness constantly complained about. Staring up at the painting, he could see the resemblance: except for his mother's emerald eyes, Harry was a double of his father. His father: the Comte Jameson Potter. His mother: the Comtesse Lilian Potter nee Eka. His _family_. And he, _Comte_ Harold Potter. He finally started to believe Draco.

And then the blond had another surprise for him. He had come back with an old man. An old man who tickled something buried deep in Harry's mind. When the man had spoken, the memories had risen to the surface. Things Harry had long discounted as dreams: playing on the floor next to the man in the paintinf, running through the gardens with this older man right on his heels, Dobby as he called him. How could he had ever forgotten all of that?

After their hug, Dobby had removed the sheets from the chairs so they all could sit. Harry had nibbled on his bread, because his stomach was grumbling, now used to getting regular meals. Dobby began to tell him more about himself and his parents. He learned his mother had died in childbirth. He had been born here at the townhouse, but his father did not like staying in it for too long because of all the memories of his mother. He learned his father died in a hunter accident when he was four. Though he had finished most of his breakfast, he had lost his appetite when he learned the horrible truth: the Baroness was his aunt, charged with taking care of the estate and him.

The Baron Petunia Dursley was his mother's older sister. She had married the Baron Dursley just before Lily had married James. Dobby had shared some gossip he had heard. Petunia was jealous of her sister, of her beauty, of her grace, of her personality. She was always passed over in favor of Lilian. Their father, Swedish ambassador Valter Eka, had married her off to the first noble that showed interest: the Baron Dursley. There were rumors that Petunia was angry that she, the eldest sister, married a baron while her younger sister married a comte.

Harry scrunched up his nose. He guessed that could explain what she and the Baron did once the Comte and Comtesse died. They were supposed to take care of Harry and the estate. Instead, they claimed the land as theirs and treated Harry as a servant. No, more like a slave. Being around the castle, Harry realized just how badly he was treated compared to the servants here.

Harry sighed again, fiddling with his lordship ring. It was a habit he developed after Dobby had pulled it out of the safe in the master suite: spinning the silver band with the Potter crest pressed into the metal around and around his middle finger. Harry glanced back around and again took in the beauty of the gardens. He thought that, just maybe, he could get used to this.


	15. Chapter 15

Lyra let her sword tip drop to the ground as she laughed at Harry. The man tripped over his own feet. Again. She knew she should not be laughing at her friend as he struggled to learn how to use a sword, but he was just too adorable. Adorably awful. She had to admire his determination though.

When the newly accepting Comte came to her for help to use a sword, Lyra had thought he was joking. But he had been serious. Harry had wanted to learn how to sword fight, because, apparently, that was on his list of things he needed to know now that he accepted his rightful place at court. She guessed she could see where he was coming from; every male of noble blood could wield a sword to some degree.

Harry might have been graceful when he walked, like a jaguar on the prowl. But the moment he had a sword in his hand, he was like a fawn discovering how his legs worked. This was their third practice. The man had the proper grip down, but the footwork was tripping him up. Literally.

Harry huffed, standing back up. "Well, that was embarrassing," he said as he brushed the dust from his leather pants.

Lyra smiled and picked up the man's sword. "Not as much as the other times," she said, winking. She offered him his sword. Harry rolled his eyes at her before taking it back.

"One more time," she said, waving her sword as she walked back to their starting positions, "I'll come at you with a downward strike." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Block me."

The other man chuckled softly as he raised his sword. "I'll try my best."

Lyra smirked, slowly bringing her sword over her head in an exaggerated move. Harry brought his sword up to guard his face. With a wink, she brought her sword down. The clang of metal on metal rang out. Lyra grinned; Harry had successfully blocked her without falling over.

The sound of clapping startled the pair; they had been the only ones in the training courtyard. Draco was leaning against the archway with a smile. His attendant nobles stood just behind his shoulder: Marquis Longbottom, Vicomte Thomas, the visiting Duc Zabini from Italy, and the Barons Crabbe and Goyle. Apparently, her brother had not been able to shake them. Draco pushed away from the wall and walked over to Harry. He reached out to fix the man's hair; the ponytail had come loose and messy throughout the practice.

Lyra rolled her eyes at her brother's antics. The lovestruck fool. If he was not careful with his affections, the King would find out before he declared his intentions.

"Looking good, love," Draco whispered to Harry just loudly enough for Lyra, who was only a couple of steps away, to hear. Louder, he said, "Care to battle a master?" His tone was arrogant and cocky. Oh, Lyra would love knocking him down a few pegs.

Lyra chuckled as Harry paled, stammering in shock and panic. She stepped forward and patted his cheek. She decided to put him out of his misery. "Don't worry, Harry dear," she said, "He was talking to me."

Harry looked so relieved. He bowed slightly to her. "My lady," he said, backing up to where the other nobles were standing to watch the fight. Draco picked up Harry's abandoned sword, checking the balance of the blade with a frown.

Lyra rolled her eyes at his antics. "It's perfect, stop being dramatic," she said. When Draco raised his eyebrow, she raised hers back at him. "What are you, scared?"

Draco spun his sword around with a skilled flourish. "You wish," he answered, "Let's begin."

And thus, they began. Swords swung, clanking and flashing in the sunlight. It was exhilarating. No one fought her like Draco did. The other nobles had these hang-ups about dueling with the royal heirs. Especially her, the princess. Draco faced the some of the problems, but not to the same extent. He was a man, while she was a lady. A _Lady of the Court_ , as their mother always said.

A loud clatter sounded in the silent courtyard as Draco's sword fell to the ground. Lyra smirked as she held the point of her sword just below her brother's throat. A _Lady of the Court_ just disarmed the Dauphin.


	16. Chapter 16

Baroness Petunia Dursley sneered at her reflection as she adjusted her hat. When the royal messenger came, summoning them all to the palace to appear before the King, she had wanted to get new clothing commissioned for them all. But she couldn't. Because that _boy_ had the audacity to run away. Her hands clenched, almost wrinkling the material of the hat. When they found him, his last whipping will be nothing compared to what he will get then.

Deciding she looked as good as she was going to get, Petunia left the entryway and walked down to where the carriage was waiting. With the boy gone, they had to rehire some of their former servants, the twins of that redheaded brood. The two were not her first choices, but the elder siblings had found employment on a different estate. Even through her gloves, her skin crawled from their commonness and hatred burning in their eyes as one of them helped her up.

Her husband and son were already seated in the carriage. For both them, the ties of their duvets strained against their large bodies. Again, she had wanted to get new clothing, that being a reason. But since they had to hire staff, there was no money for that. So they had to make do. Of course, the material was still of the finest quality, even though it was tighter than it should be

The ride was short, and soon they were arriving at the palace. Petunia frowned. They were not announced, no fanfare to greet them. And there was no one in the courtyard to greet them. Well, no one of importance. A royal servant waited to lead them to the throne room. They were of the nobility. They deserved more than a measly servant as their reception.

With barely a nod, the servant turned and headed up the stairs. Like it was expected of them to follow, without a word being said. Petunia bit her tongue at the slight. Her husband did not seem to be able to do the same.

"This is outrageous," Vernon spat. Petunia could tell he was working himself up to a full tirade. In those moments, she knew decorum is the last thing on his mind. If he had his tantrum here, it would drastically affect their already shaky standing.

"Not now," Petunia said, laying a hand on his arm, "Later." Dudley looked between them, confused. It was a normal look on his face.

At the moment, the group reached the throne room, stopping before the ornately carved oak doors. The servant knocked twice, and the doors opened inward. Again, no announcement. Nothing at all. Holding her head high, Petunia took her husband's arm and walked into the room full of courtiers, her son following just at her shoulder.


	17. Chapter 17

Draco smirked from his spot next to the window. He orchestrated it all, and he could see the effect it was having on the Dursleys. The tension in their bodies. The red rue to the Baron's face. The unease in the Baroness' eyes. He could see the unease grow as they were essentially ignored by the courtiers. Oh, he knew that they were all very aware of the trio's entrance; they just did not care that much. At least, not yet.

The throne room was full. All the courtiers currently at the palace were in attendance, mingling and gossiping amongst themselves. A riot of colorful fabrics, like a flock of exotic birds. And in the midst, a raven and a dove.

Harry stood proud and tall amongst the tittering crowd. The man was settling into his position well. His family signet ring glinted on his finger as he talked. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off his strong jawline. His clothing, new ones that Draco had commissioned, fit perfectly and accentuated his body. A granite gray duvet over a black shirt hugged and showed of his broad and powerful shoulders. Dark green velvet pants melted over the toned lines of his legs to fall into black riding boots. Harry was a sharp contrast to his companion, the Lady Luna, Draco's rather eccentric cousin. She was the bastard daughter of the bastard younger brother of the King. Some questioned why she was there at court, though not very loudly. Draco and Lyra loved her and liked having her around. And, more importantly, so did the Queen. Today, Luna was wearing a pure white gown, full skirt and flowing sleeves, with yellow embroidery around the hems, necklace, and waist. Her hair, the Malfoy white blonde, was loose, falling to her waist in loose waves. It was scandalous to have it down like that at her age, but that was Luna. Draco smiled softly at the pair as they talked softly to one another. He was glad Harry had found a friend at court.

In the front of the room sat four thrones, the middle two larger than the others. Those two were filled by King Lucius and Queen Narcissa. Draco's mother looked elegant and regal in a dark blue velvet gown that pulled around her, her hair pulled into an elaborate hairstyle with her crown resting atop. She glanced over to Draco and smirked slightly; she was just as excited to justice served. Apparently, Baroness Dursley had been unbearable before she was married, being snide and rude, and his mother was eager to knock her off her high horse.

Draco's throne, to the left of his parents', was empty, but Lyra was in hers. Of course, that was under protest. She was dressed like a proper lady, in a two tone purple dress, with her hair in an elaborate braid. And, she had her nose buried in a book. Draco shook his head at her with a chuckle. Somethings never change.

Pushing away from the wall, Draco checked his crown to make sure it was still in place. He meandered through the crowd on his way to his throne. He paused briefly to give Harry's shoulder a squeeze and Luna a soft kiss on the cheek. His eyes boar into Harry's as he did. Soon, he could show the true depth of his affection for the man in public, but now was not the time.

Finally, he reached his throne and sunk into it with a bored air about him. He blankly stared at the Baron and Baroness, gleeful as they squirmed under his scrutiny. Then, he smirked evilly at them, which seemed to upset them all the more. This would be fun.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry bit his lip in nervousness. The gentle squeeze from Draco had helped some but not enough to make his nerves completely go away. He started to fidget with his cuffs, unless a slight hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. He looked up into gray eyes and smiled, nodding his head.

Luna, Draco's cousin, smiled back and released his wrist. "It'll be fine," she said in her slightly airy voice, "Oh, it's starting."

Harry looked to the thrones and saw Draco pull out a stack of parchments. When the blond cleared his throat, all eyes zeroed in on the Dauphin. The courtiers around them vaguely knew what was going on, but not the specifics. The three Dursleys flinched a little at the harshness of the sound, and Harry could not help feeling a bit smug.

Without addressing them, Draco began. It was a power play, to accentuate how little the court thought of them. That had made Harry smile when Draco had told him about the plan. "You were summoned here to stand trial," Draco announced. The Dursleys all pale.

Harry had wanted to laugh at their reaction, but he managed to hold it in. Around him, the other nobility tittered in excitement. Dieu, they were vultures; they fed on the downfall of others of their kind. Harry glanced to the side, glad he had made a friend in Luna. He nearly ducked down when Dudley looked around the gathered courtiers, as if looking for help. But his rational mind stopped him; with his new look, none of three would ever recognize him.

"The charges," Draco continued, "Theft of property of a noble of higher rank, abuse of a noble of higher rank, and attempted murder of a noble of higher rank." Harry could tell the blond was really enjoying this. He would be too, if it was not so awful.

The Baroness paled, but the Baron's face grew red with anger at Draco's words. Harry nearly sighed. He recognized that look. There would be shouting, and normally hitting, but the Baron would not dare to strike the Dauphin.

Right as expected, the Baron started to shout, "Lies! All lies!" The obese spun to face the crowd of courtiers, pointing a pudgy finger at them; Harry ducked a little, making sure to be behind a taller man, the Marquis Longbottom, he thought. "Which one of you is spreading these vicious lies about me and my family?!"

The angry man turned back to the thrones, but was stopped from continuing his tirade by the king. King Lucius simply raised his left hand, and it was like the Baron's voice was stolen right out of his throat. With a vaguely bored expression, the King waved his hand, indicating that Draco should continue.

"What do you know of the Potters? Specifically Comte Jameson, Comtesse Lilian, and their child, Harold," Draco asked, as if he genuinely wanted to know. And he did. Harry did too; he wanted to know how and why they thought it would be acceptable to take his lands and treat him, a Comte, like a slave.

"They're dead," The Baroness said, having finally found her voice, soft and strained though it was.

"We were given their property!" the Baron shouted.

Draco glared at them, causing all three to flinch back. That look promised pain and suffering. "No," the blond spat, "You were told to take care of the property for their son, which you also to take care of."

Harry could see the panic growing in their eyes. He was morbidly curious about how they would attempt to talk themselves out of this. But there was nothing they said that could save them now. They would pay for what they did to him.


	19. Chapter 19

Draco glared at the slime masquerading as nobles in front of him. He really wanted to hear what they had to say for themselves. How they would play this off. How they would justify their actions. Of course, nothing could save them from their fates, but it would be amusing to see them try.

The young Baron, who had just looked stupidly confused throughout the proceedings, finally spoke up. "Who?" he asked. Draco barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

Apparently, hearing his son speak jarred the older Baron into action. "He died," he said quickly, "Childhood illness. We brought in a physician, but he could not be saved."

Draco stared at the man in disbelief. Really? Did he think he could get away with lying to the royal family? He was not the only person shocked. Amongst the crowded courtiers, there were many gasps as well as a long, sarcastic snort.

Looking out over the courtiers, Draco's eyes narrowed in on Harry. Unlike before, when the man was been subtly hiding behind the others, Harry was standing tall, in all his noble, righteous anger. The others parted as the man made his way towards the front. Confidently, Harry walked through the gap between the courtiers and the thrones to stand next to Draco's.

Glancing down at Draco with a flirty smirk, Harry nonchalantly leaned his hip against the arm of the throne. The man then looked at the Dursleys and levered them with a very unimpressed look. "Really?" he asked, the sarcasm dripping from his words, "I died, did I?"

Draco watched as the three stared blankly at Harry. Everyone waited for the recognition to hit. This was not part of their plan, but Draco would follow Harry's lead. He was the injured part in this situation; whatever he wanted to do, they would do.

Slowly, the Baron and Baroness realized who exactly was leaning against the Dauphin's throne. It took a while; in their defense, Harry looked nothing like he used to as the mistreated servant-slave. Horror and panic filled their eyes as they looked over the man. Harry smirked at their reactions.

Draco cleared his throat to regain the Dursleys' attention. Their eyes snapped away from Harry to focus on Draco. He arched an eyebrow at them, hoping to silently spur them into changing their answer. When the look did nothing, he spoke, "Well?"

The Baron sputtered, his face an interesting mix of pale and bright red; horror and anger warring for dominance on its pudgy canvas. But it was the Baroness that soon drew attention. Her face had contorted into an ugly, rage filled snarl. The other courtiers backed up from her.

"Perfect Lillian," the Baroness muttered, hatred dripping off the words, "with her perfect life."

"I was your nephew," Harry viciously countered.

"And I was her sister!" she yelled, startling everyone. Even Draco's parents. And Lyra emerged from her book. Miracles could happen, apparently. "But that didn't stop her from ruining my life!"

All the courtiers were looking between the enraged Baroness and the cool Comte leaning against Draco's throne. Harry gave off the image of calm and collected, draped against the back of the throne with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, but Draco knew better. He could see the tension in every muscle. Subtly, he moved his hand to brush the other man's thigh, to offer support. And Harry leaned into the touch, which caused Draco to have to fight back a smile. Now was not the time for that.

"All our lives, it was 'pretty Lily', 'perfect Lily', 'wonderful Lily'," the Baroness continued her rant, "And 'why are you more like Lily?'. 'Be like Lily'." She started to wave her hands around. "I was the eldest! Yet she got everything! Better dresses. Prettier jewelry. And she married a Comte! A Comte! Why did my little sister get a Comte while I got this fleshy Baron?!"

She waved at her husband at those words. The man, who had been staring at his wife in shock since the start of her rampage, finally moved. He sputtered, his face getting red in anger as she insulted him. "You're no catch," he retorted, "I only married you because there was no one else willing. And your father offered me a hefty dowry."

Petunia scoffed. "Because you, Vernon, are vile, and everyone always compared me to Perfect Lilian," she said, pointing a finger at Harry then, " _You_ were just the same. And they saddled me with you. She had the audacity to die giving birth to you. Then her husband had to go and die as well. There you were, looking just like Comte Potter with Lilian's unique eyes." She smirked nastily. "And I saw my opportunity. To take everything that I deserved. Everything that Lily took from me. As the eldest, it all should have been mine. So, we took your property, your money. And I made you suffer just like I always wanted to make Lilian suffer."

Well, that was … surprising. Draco knew of the jealousy between the sisters, but that had apparently grown into intense hatred. So intense, that she took it out on a defenseless child. Well, that cemented her fate. The Baron's fate had been sealed as Draco looked after Harry while the man healed from his wounds. Now, it was the young Baron's turn to face judgment.

"You, Dudley Dursley," Draco atoned, drawing the man's attention. The man had been horror-struck as he looked between his parents. "Did you know of all this?"

Dudley blinked in confusion. "Sire? Know what?"

Dieu, that man was an idiot. "About the Comte Potter?" Draco prompted.

Dudley rapidly shook his head. "No, sire, I did not know anything about them, or Harry," he said, then blanched, "I mean, Comte Potter." He ducked his head in a stunted bow. "I remember moving, but not why we moved. And I knew Mother hated the little boy who was with the other servants. She encouraged me to be awful to him, to get him in trouble."

The man then turned to Harry. "I am so sorry, my lord, for everything I did," he said, then swallowed thickly, "Especially lying to get you in trouble for my party." He ducked his head in shame.

Draco heard Harry suck in a sharp breath. He looked up and saw hooded acceptance in his eyes. Like, he accepted what the man before them was trying to do, but it did nothing against the horrors he had suffered through. Draco turned back and stared at Dudley Dursley, reconsidering. Maybe, a slightly more lenient sentence, since he seemed to really know nothing and at least attempted to make amends.


	20. Chapter 20

That was surprising. Harry had not expected Dudley to apologize, to bow and scrape before him. And he actually believed the man. Harry knew all the young Baron's lying tells, and he was not exhibiting any of them. A tap on his thigh drew his attention down to the blond. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him, silently asking what he thought.

Harry hummed, tilting his head slightly. Maybe some leniency was in order. His _cousin_ was a jerk and an idiot, but that should not warrant a harsh punishment. Not like the Baron and Baroness. He nodded to Draco, waving his hand down to communicate to lessen Dudley's sentence. The blond nodded, understanding.

It took him a lot of effort to not smile like a love-struck loon at Draco. The Dauphin. The middle of a trial was not the time to show off his affections towards the other man to the court. He turned back to facing the Dursleys. He wanted to watch their faces, to see their reactions when their sentences were read out.

Beside him, Draco stood up. He walked over to stand before the thrones, immediate in front of the Durselys. Harry knew the man well enough to knew he was smirking, enjoying this. Harry's enjoyment was tempered with anger and sadness, but this would be cathartic for him.

The blond cleared his throat, looking down at the three before him. "You have been found guilty," he began, "And thus, here are your sentences."

Draco stepped in front of Vernon, biting back a smirked. "You are sentenced to death," he said, then paused for dramatic effect, "You will be beheaded by the afflicted party."

The pudgy man whimpered, glancing over at Harry. He just smirked back. Oh, how he would enjoy swinging that sword.

Draco moved to stand before Petunia. "Since you are fond are cut words and harsh work, your tongue shall be cut out and you shall become a servant." The blond looked around the gather courtiers. "Is anyone in need of a maid?"

The Duc Zabini stepped forward. "I am in need of a scullery maid."

Draco smiled. "Wonderful," he said, turning back to the woman, "You'll be a scullery maid in Duc Zabini's household."

Harry felt particularly indicated with her punishment. With all the horrible things she said that day, throughout his life, and all the work she had him do, it was fitting that she would get a taste of that same treatment.

Lastly, Draco came before Dudley. The young man looked terrified, but resigned. Though he had flinched slightly as his parents' sentences were read, he had not protested. He understood that they deserved that. Now it was his turn to face judgment.

"Your life, and title, will be spared," Draco said, Dudley deflating in relief, "But ignorance does not fully excuse your actions. Therefore, the Dursley lands will be halved."

Dudley nodded, bowing deeply. "Yes, my lord."

Draco nodded back, then turned to the guards back at the door. "Take them away," he said, motioning to the former Baron and Baroness, "They'll await in the dungeons." He turned back to Dudley. "I can have a guide found to take you to your lands, if you wish."

The new Baron Dursley looked around at the courtiers. "That would be greatly appreciated," he replied. Harry figured the man did not want to spend any more time in court at the moment than he had to.

Draco sent for a page and Dudley was taken out. The courtiers are whispered excitedly and flittered around the room. The blond walked back to Harry, eyebrow quirked in question. Harry grinned back and nodded. Together, they made their way out of the throne room.


	21. Chapter 21

Draco sighed, resisting the urge to pull at his collar. Why, today of all days, did the weather have to break and the sun beating down on everything? Normally, the heat would not bother him. He would just wear a loose shirt, but not today. He was wearing his ceremonial clothes, which were heavy, and thick, and itchy.

Glancing to his left, Draco could see Harry, who was scratching his neck. Draco bit his lip to stop from laughing at his love. While it was amusing how uncomfortable Harry was in the formal attire, now was not the proper time. Glancing to his right, Draco smirked at Lyra. She looked thoroughly annoyed as she cooled herself with an ornate fan. She was not happy to be out there. Firstly, she was required to be out there with him and Harry, in the awful heat. Secondly, their mother had forced Lyra into a formal, long-sleeve velvet dress for the occasion. His sister glared at him, and he winked back at her.

Draco turned back to face forward. The three of them were standing on the balcony overlooking the main courtyard of the palace. The ground below them was packed with the common people. In the center, a wooden platform rose above their heads. The executor stood upon it, waiting for the criminal. His ax gleamed in the sun where it was resting against the wooden block. The guards at the gate on the opposite side were waiting for a signal. Draco's signal.

With one last glance at Harry, Draco nodded. The guards snapped to attention. The drummers, stationed that corners of the yard, began to beat an ominous rhythm which echoed against the stone walls. The crowd buzzed with anticipation. After a few moments later, the gate opened, and three people stepped out: two guards with the criminal between.

Vernon Dursley looked horrid. He was filthy, and his eyes, even from the distance, were vacant. Haunted. That could be because Petunia's sentence was carried out the day before. Right in front of his cell. Duc Zabini calmly watched as two guards held her down, another forced her mouth open; the last held a knife in the flames of a torch mounted to the wall. Her husband kept shouting, pleading and sobbing, as the metal began to glow. Finally, when the blade was practically white, Petunia's tongue was cut out of her mouth, the wound cauterizing instantly. Duc Zabini looked down at the writhing woman indifferently, holding the end of his cane into the flames. After a moment, he removed it and placed it against the woman's neck, branding her with the Zabini crest. Vernon was a blubbering mess as Petunia's unconscious form was carried away.

Back to the present, Vernon was now up on the platform, on his knees before the block. It was time. Draco raised a hand, and the drums stopped. Silence reigned on the gather people in the courtyard.

"My people," he began in his normal voice, the sound carrying easily, "We are here to witness the execution of Vernon Dursley. For crimes against the aristocracy, you are sentenced to death by beheading. Comte Potter." He raised his left hand forward. "Claim your justice."

He heard Harry's steps as the man walked to the side and down the stairs. The crowd parted for him as he made his way to the platform. Many of the people recognized him from markets, and remembered all the horrible treatment he withstood. He could plainly see that the people wanted to reach out, to touch him, but they feared, because Harry was now a noble.

Draco watched as Harry climbed the stairs of the platform. The man took the axe from the executioner, weighing it in his hands. Draco smirked; there was a reason he requisitioned an axe for this instead of the standard sword. Harry had been raised a laborer, so an axe was more natural in his hand than a sword.

The executioner pushed Vernon down by the shoulders, his neck extended over the block. The drumming increased to a steady roll as Harry stepped into position. The man glanced up at Draco, winked, and then swung the axe. The drums stopped. The sound of the axe imbedding into the wood could be heard in the silence of the courtyard, followed immediately by a wet thud. Harry looked up to the balcony and smiled. The crowd cheered.


End file.
